The Countess de Chagny
by Kyrie74
Summary: The Phantom sends Christine away with Raoul. But, even as he vanishes through the shattered mirror, he realizes she has given him two things; dignity and one last chance to be reunited with her. PG-13 for now. Reviews welcome! Inspired by the ALW movi
1. Reborn In Broken Glass

Chapter One - Reborn In Broken Glass

He watched as little black boat moved away across the lake. He could not take his eyes off Christine. He knew that this would be the last time he would see her again.

Her wedding gown was torn and wet. Her long curls hung in damp tangles over her shoulders. One pale hand was on the Vicomte's shoulder as the young man clumsily guided the boat into the narrow lock.

Christine turned to look back at him and he could see the tears in her gentle eyes.

_Say you will share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you._

He knew those words were meant for him. He had only to call her name and she would come back to him. She would stay with him forever.

Pieces of burning debris cascaded through the openings in the ceiling and hissed as they hit the gray-green waters of the lake.

The mob was coming closer, he could hear the angry voices just beyond the portcullis.

No, he could not call her back and expose her to their rage. Nor would he drag her into hiding with him.

He stared down at the ring she'd pressed into his hand. He slipped it onto a black ribbon and hung it from his neck.

His mask lay near the bed. He left it where it had fallen. He would never wear a mask again. Christine had given him more than a ring and a kiss. She had given him humanity. The Phantom of the Opera had died that night.

As the torches of the mob flickered beyond the grating, he picked up a heavy candlestick and walked to the row of mirrors.

One by one, he smashed them. Never again would he be a prisoner to mirrors and masks, to his own face. His cry was not one of anger or pain. It was one of triumph.

The third mirror shattered. Beyond it lay darkness and, beyond the darkness, safety.

He looked back one final time at the place that had been his lonely sanctuary. He knew that it would all be destroyed. The mob would not spare the flotsam and jetsam of his life. What they did not ruin, the fire would.

It hurt to leave behind his manuscripts, his portraits of Christine, his music box, his pipe organ. He knew those were part of the past...they were no longer his treasures, they belonged to the Opera Ghost...may he rest in peace.

He turned and stepped through the mirror.

The music of the night ended.


	2. Tears In The Night

Chapter Two - Tears In The Night

The hired carriage shot through the darkness on the road beyond Paris.

Christine sat slumped in her corner. Still dressed in the bridal gown, she shivered beneath the lap robe.

Raoul leaned back against the seat cushions. Exhausted from the night's ordeal, he'd fallen asleep. The wound to his arm had reopened when he'd struggled against the Punjab lasso, but the bleeding had stopped.

Christine reached over and spread part of the blanket over him.

The grief had been building within her heart since they'd fled the burning Opera House. Now it burst from her soul in a flood of tears.

She had betrayed the man she loved. Like a true Judas...with a kiss. She should have stayed with him. Even if it meant dying with him at the hands of the mob.

"Dear Lord, what have I done?"

She had not meant to cry out like that, but it was too late. Raoul was awake and leaning toward her.

"Christine, darling, what is it?"

"I shouldn't have left...the mob...they will have killed him."

"Christine, my dear," he reassured her, "there was nothing you could have done to save him. You are safe now, forget this monster. Forget everything. We will start our lives over now."

His words tore into Christine's soul like a whip. A monster? How could he say that? Raoul's life had been perfect. He was rich, his face smooth and whole. He had a loving family, every privilege. He had never suffered, but how could he be so cold and indifferent towards the pain of a fellow human.

But she was too weary to argue.

"Raoul, where are you taking me?"

"Home, dearest. To my father's chateau."

Christine had never seen the de Chagny home, though her father had once pointed out to her from a distance during a drive in the country. She remembered it as a large, gracious old home and, suddenly, she was afraid to go there.

"Raoul, I thought your parents were traveling...that they were in England."

She did not want to be alone in the old mansion with Raoul. And it was not for the sake of propriety or modesty. Her emotions were too twisted, too bitter...

"Don't worry, Christine. My aunts are there. You remember them...from the seashore...Louise and Philomene."

Christine did indeed remember the two proud, but kind maiden aunts from those sunlit days before her father's death.

"They were always fond of you, love," Raoul continued, "They'll look after you until we are married."


	3. An Appeal To An Old Friend

Chapter Three - An Appeal To An Old Friend

He made his way slowly through Paris, through the night.

For the first time, he walked the streets with his face uncovered, but there was no one to see, no one to cry out or turn away in terror.

A few blocks from the burning Opera House, he stopped before a small flat. The concierge was asleep, the front door unlocked.

Quietly, he ascended the stairs to a familiar door and knocked. An old friend answered the summons.

"Good evening, Nadir."

"You! I thought...I saw the flames from the Opera. I thought for sure you were dead. How did you come here? What happened to the girl and her suitor? What is going on? Where is your mask?"

Even as he questioned the sudden appearance of a face from the past, from the rosy hours of the Sultan's court, he did not forget hospitality. He ushered his guest into the sitting room of his modest apartment and lit the samovar to make tea.

"Daroga, I am tired. I am in no mood to explain things tonight."

"What do you want, then?"

"A few favors, for the sake of old times."

The Persian nodded. They had long ago ceased to keep track of the debts they owed each other.

"I will do what I can," Nadir said as he handed his guest a cup of strong hot tea, "What do you need."

"For tonight, a place to sleep. In the morning, I will need to borrow some clothes, a few francs. I will need a carriage, too."

Nadir frowned as he poured a cup of tea for himself.

"Darius will arrange everything for you. Why do you need a carriage? Do you mean to leave the country?"

His guest stared down at the delicate tea cup with its vivid pattern of blue and gold.

"No, Daroga. I am not leaving France. I am going to visit someone. And it is a visit that is long, long overdue."

That night, for the first time, his sleep was free of nightmares.


	4. Night and Morning

Chapter Four - Night and Morning

The pain in Raoul's arm made it difficult to sleep that night. Weary as he was, he sat in a chair, staring out the window at the shadows clustered in the chateau gardens.

His aunts, one a spinster, the other a widow, has welcomed Christine with open arms. He'd last seen her being led up the stairs like a child, enveloped...smothered, almost...by sympathy and concern.

Poor, sweet Christine. What had that monster put her through? Raoul cursed himself for not having killed the vile creature when he'd had the chance. He'd seen the hate and rage in his eyes in the cemetery. Only Christine's pity had spared him them.

Well, he was surely dead now. Unlike Christine, the mob would have shown him no undeserved mercy.

He picked up his glass and watched the light of the fire dancing in the brandy, but one image remained before his eyes. One image continued to torture him.

He could still see his Christine moving slowly through the water and into the monster's arms.

What a noble girl she was, sacrificing herself to save his life. What courage she had to offer herself up to that demon. All for him.

Even the devil had wept.

Raoul was resolved to marry her as soon as possible. He would make her forget the hell of this night.

-

Christine sat huddled in the large bed. A generous fire warmed the room, but a chill still pervaded her body and soul as she gathered the down comforter around her shoulders.

Her Angel's voice was silent now. The voice that had always been there, whispered to her from beyond her dreams.

For his sake, she prayed that the end had come quickly. She prayed that he had not been made to suffer.

Her wedding dress lay draped over a chair. It was dirty now, ruined. The shimmer silk and lace were torn. The maid had tried to take it away, but Christine asked her to leave it there. It was all she had left of her Angel. A ragged gown and the memory of a kiss mingled with tears.

She shrugged off the blanket and got out of bed. She knelt on the floor before the chair. Burying her face in the white silk, she wept for her Angel.

-

The next morning, Nadir found his guest was awake already. He stood before an open window, watching as the dawn illuminated the streets of Paris.

A single ray of the morning sun shone on his distorted side of his face. He closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the rose-colored light on his bare skin for the first time.

"Thank you, Christine," he whispered before he turned to face the Persian.

-

Christine did not join Raoul for breakfast the next morning.

"The poor girl is still asleep," Aunt Philomene explained when he inquired after her. She did not mention that the maid had found her slumped on the floor, her pale hands entwined in the silk of the gown.

"Did Jerome send the telegraph to my father yet?"

"He just left a half an hour ago," Aunt Louise reassured her nephew.

Louise and her sister exchanged smiles. It was clear that the young man was madly in love with Mademoiselle Daae. Even if she was an Opera singer, she was such a charming girl and they would be glad to have her join the family.


	5. A Name Remembered

Chapter Five - A Name Remembered

Erik turned away from the window, from the unfamiliar glory of the morning. One day, he promised himself, he would share such glory with Christine.

Yes, he was Erik again. The name he'd try to forget all these years was his once more. The time had come to reclaim it.

"Nadir, I owe you an explanation. About Mademoiselle Daae, about the Opera House."

The Persian shook his head.

"Forget about the explanations. I suspect there are things I am better off not knowing."

Darius brought breakfast and listened as Nadir instructed him to procure suitable clothing and a carriage for his friend.

"But no mask," Erik added, "The Phantom is dead. He lies buried in the embers of the Opera House."

When the servant had gone, Nadir turned to him.

"So who are you now? The Gypsy Conjurer? The Magician of Novgorod? The Assassin of Manzanderan? The Trap-Door Lover?"

"They are dead, too. Only Erik remains."

The name was still painful for Nadir to hear. He could not forget that his own son died with that name on his lips. The child died calling out, not for his father, but for the dark Angel that brought him mercy.

Erik saw the old grief returning to his friend's eyes.

"Daroga, I have never asked forgiveness from anyone. Until now."

"Erik, I pardoned you the day we buried my son. You did for him what I lacked the courage to do."

Later that morning, Darius returned with the needed clothing and informed Nadir than a carriage was now at Erik's disposal at the nearby livery stable.

"I won't ask you where you are going, Erik. But I suspect it involves Mademoiselle Daae."

"Nadir, your ability to discern the obvious always amazes me."

Before he bid Erik farewell, Nadir drew a pouch of emerald green silk from his desk.

"Since you have given up your position at the Opera House and your generous salary," he said with a smile, "you will no doubt have need of this."

Erik took the purse and looked with surprise at its contents. It held a small fortune in paper money, gold coins, and loose gems.

"Nadir, where did you get all this?"

"Even an honest policeman is forced to accept a bribe from time to time."

Erik slipped the purse into the inner pocket of his dark coat.

"I'll repay you, old friend."

-

The afternoon sunlight skimmed across the snow as the carriage rattled along a wooded road on the outskirts of Paris.

Erik had dismissed the driver and purchased the carriage from the surprised stable owner. During the brief transaction, he tried to ignore the disturbed expression in the proprietor's eyes.

Let them look, let them stare and laugh. If Christine could bear to look upon his face, he no longer gave a damn what the world thought of it.

At a crossroads, he stopped. On the horizon, he could see the cemetery. The monuments seemed to huddle together in the chilly air.

His eyes were drawn to one tomb, the massive vault which held the remains of Gutave Daae.

And he wondered about that day...was it only weeks ago...when he tried to lure his beloved into that dark tomb.

He could still see her there, kneeling in the snow. A lost, wandering girl in black. Had she truly thought it was her dead father calling to her from with the marble vault. Or had she known it was her Angel?

Staring up at the graveyard, he felt only shame for having tried to deceive her.


	6. Closer Now

Chapter Six - Closer Now

Raoul did not see Christine until the evening when she joined his aunts for dinner. She was too pale and dark shadows dimmed her eyes, but the borrowed gown of apricot silk was becoming and she tried to smile as he helped her to a seat at the rosewood table.

"I've sent a telegram to my father. I want to be married at once, dearest. As soon as my parents came arrange to return, if fact."

Married. The word stunned Christine for a moment. She could still taste her Angel's tears on her lips. She needed time to mourn him. It was too soon.

"Good heavens, Raoul," interrupted Aunt Philomene, "you always were an eager child! The poor girls is still exhausted and here you are rushing her to the altar!"

Christine smiled at the older lady in gratitude as Raoul quickly apologized for his impetuousness.

As the meal progressed, Raoul avoided mentioning their wedding again, but he could not take his eyes off of Christine. How beautiful she would look when he lifted her lace veil and kiss her for the first time as her husband.

Meanwhile, the four of them lingered over dessert. The candles flickered as they spoke of the happy days in Brittany, of Gustave Daae's marvelous fairy tales, of the afternoon when young Raoul dashed into the sea to retrieve Christine's red scarf. Outside, delicate snow flurried swirled against the leaded windows.

-

Erik turned the carriage into the courtyard of the inn. As the horse's hoofs clattered on the cobblestones, the patron hurried out to meet him.

"Good evening, Monsieur. Come in out of the cold. There is a warm fire and good food to be had here."

Erik saw the man's expression of shock and revulsion give way to welcome as he took in the expensive material of the clothing Nadir had provided.

"Please see that my horse is looked after. The drive was a long one."

The man nodded and called for a stableboy to see to the carriage.

"Have you come out from Paris, sir?"

"I have," Erik answered as he followed the man into the inn's parlor. "I shall want a room for one night, at least. Perhaps longer."

"Of course, of course. Will you have take your meals in your room, sir?"

Erik hesitated. Did he yet have the courage to sit there in the inn's crowded dining room?

"I will have super in the dining room. Tell me, that chateau just across the river...is it still owned by the de Chagny family?"

"Let me take your coat, sir. Yes, the de Chagnys still live there. Are you from this region, then?"

"I have some...connections to this place. Do you know if the Comte de Chagny is in residence?"

The innkeeper shrugged.

"The family doesn't keep me informed of their comings and goings. The old Comte, though, is in London with his wife. But I did here that the young Vicomte came home from Paris late last night. Brought a young woman with him."

Later that night, Erik stood alone in the courtyard behind the inn. From there, he could see the dark shape of the chateau. A single light burned in one of the windows.

"Wait for me, beloved. Wait for me."


	7. The Page

Chapter Seven - The Page

The next morning was clear and bright as Erik knocked at the door of the little house adjacent to the old stone church at the heart of the village.

A middle-aged priest opened the door.

"May I help you?"

"I am looking for Father Claude Fremin. He was a priest in this parish some years ago."

"Father Fremin has been dead for twenty years. He was much loved by the people here I am Father Bruyas, his immediate successor. Is there something I can assist you with?"

"I should like to see your baptismal records."

Father Bruyas showed his guest in the small office where the parish records were kept. Heavy old books held them, generations of births, marriages, and deaths.

"What year, Monsieur?"

"1836. The mother's maiden name was Marie-Madeleine Laspierre."

The priest glanced up in surprise.

"You must be looking for the missing page, then."

Erik froze. The missing page? Had his search come to a dead end? Was his only proof lost?

"Please explain, Pere Bruyas."

"There is a single page missing from this volume. For October of the year. It appears to have been cut out from the book."

The priest laid the registry on the desk and Erik saw that the page he sought had indeed been cleanly cut from it.

"However," Father Bruyas continued, "there is another copy of this volume. This is not the original. There was a flood here some years ago...before I came. Father Fremin copied the records into new books. The old ones are still in the church and some are still legible. I could show it to you, if you would like."

Erik followed the priest through a short passage that connected the rectory to the church. A flight of wooden steps led to a cramped storage room over the sacristy. From a cabinet, Father Bruyas drew out a book. The cover was gone and the pages waved with water damage.

He opened the book on the windowsill and flipped through the pages.

Atop a dusty shelf, a statue of an angel with fading paint looked down on Erik as he stared at the page. This was what he had come for.

"Pere Bruyas, I should like to have this book. I am prepared to be very generous."


	8. Meetings

Chapter Eight - Meetings

Christine sat at her dressing table A maid carefully braided her long chestnut hair and formed the plait into a rosette at the nape of her neck.

Raoul's parents had returned from England. They had cut short their stay in response to his telegram. She was to meet them this afternoon.

"Is this what I want?" she asked herself when the maid had left.

She knew the answer was no. She did not want to marry Raoul. But what else was there? She had no home, no family. The Opera House was nothing but a ruin. The man she loved was dead. She was alone. There was nothing else, no one else.

The maid had left the door slightly ajar and she could hear voices in the library below.

There was a vase of hothouse flowers on the dressing table. The whole chateau was filled with them. She chose a single red rose and fastened it to her dress.

-

"Christine, it is so lovely to meet you at last. To think that Raoul has spoken of you so often all these years and yet we never met sooner."

"Thank you, Madame. It is an honor to meet you."

Christine took the older lady's outstretched hand. Isabelle de Chagny was a beautiful woman. Her features were delicate, her eyes the color of a clear summer sky. Her honey-colored hair was softly fading to ivory.

Christine saw that Raoul resembled his mother. His father, Charles, Comte de Chagny, was a tall man with dark brown hair and light brown eyes.

Like Philomene and Louise, the Comte and his wife made the young soprano feel welcome in their midst.

But a restless feeling dragged at her throughout the afternoon and evening. After dinner, she excused herself and, sending a maid to fetch a heavy shawl, slipped out into the loneliness of the winter garden.

-

Erik gave a coin to the tired stable boy who'd saddled his horse and led the animal out to him.

He followed the road down to the river and across the quaint old bridge. He ignored the heavy iron gates that blocked the entrance to the chateau and guided the horse into the woods.

The trees thinned and he found himself at the edge of a garden. Looking up at the chateau, he wondered which window was hers.

He tossed the horses reins over a low branch and pushed open the garden gate.

Then he saw a figure standing beneath the bare almond tree. It was Christine.

-

Christine heard a footstep on the gravel walk behind her. Had Raoul followed her out to the garden? She had told him that she wished to be alone for a time.

In the week since her arrival at the chateau, he had stayed as close to her as her own shadow. He was at her side from the time she awoke in the morning until she retired at night.

She would not acknowledge him, she decided, hoping he had not seen in among the trees.

"Christine...Christine...Christine."

She turned and saw the man who stood before her. He made no move toward her, but held out his hands.

With a little cry, she let herself fall into his embrace.


	9. There Is Only Erik

Chapter Nine - There Is Only Erik

Christine clung to him like a dying woman who has only just found her soul.

Erik wanted to speak to her, to tell her that he loved her...to say those words to her over and over. But he could not for the tears choked his voice. Closing his eyes, he held her close and buried his face in her hair.

"Oh, my Angel, my Angel," she whispered against his shoulder, "tell me this is not a dream. Tell me you are really alive, really here with me."

"Christine, beloved, there is no Angel now," he answered her, letting his finger traces the smooth curve of her chin. "There is only Erik."

He kissed her then, for the first time. There was nothing else within the darkness, only his hands pressed against the curve of her back, her breath against his skin, her lips returning his kiss.

"Erik," she said softly, "I love you."

Overcome with emotion, he dropped to his knees before her.

"I am not worthy of you, Christine."

She knelt down before him and laid her finger against his lips to silence him.

"Let me look at you, Erik."

She reached out and touched his face, pressed her palm lightly against his damp cheek. He caught her wrist and held her hand there.

"Tell me, Christine, that you are alright. The Vicomte, has he..."

Christine shook her head.

"He has been kind. Almost too kind. His whole family...they have been good to me. Erik, I thought you were dead...I was so wretched without you. Tell me, how did you get away, how did you get here?"

"Not now, Christine," he said, rising and drawing her up with him, "there is no time. I must go."

"Take me with you, Erik," she cried, clutching his hand. "Don't leave me here."

He smiled and caressed her face.

"A few more days. There is something I must do. For you."

Turning, he walked away from her towards the woods. At the gate, he paused and looked back at her. Then he forced himself to leave.


	10. The Visitor

_**Author's Note: **I know these chapters are short, but it's just the way they keep happening. Totally out of my control. Thanks to all the great, kind people who've reviewed and, to the person who asked, it's mainly inspired by ALW's version, esp. the movie. But there is a dash of Leroux and Kay in here, too. Read on..._

* * *

Chapter Ten - The Visitor

Charles de Chagny was not a superstitious man. Perhaps it was the thick, low clouds with their promise of a late winter storm that gave him an uncharacteristic sense of foreboding.

If anything, he ought to be happy. His son was going to be married soon, though no wedding date had been set. True, the girl had been a singer at the Opera Populaire and there was a hint of scandal associated with her name. Still, she was a sweet, charming girl. She would make a fine daughter-in-lawl.

The young lady had seemed distant and agitated after her solitary walk in the garden the previous evening. But, according to Raoul, she had gone through a terrible ordeal the night of the Opera fire.

There was a discreet knock at the door of his library. After a pause, the butler entered.

"A man is here to see you, milord."

Was he just imagining it or was there an unusual nervous edge to Jerome's normally stoic voice.

"Did he give his name?"

"No, milord. He said his business with you was of extreme importance."

"If the matter is that serious, show him in at once."

The butler hesitated.

"Sir, I don't think you should see this man."

"Show him in now, Jerome."

A few moments later, the library door swung open as Jerome admitted the caller. The Comte rose to meet his visitor.

He found himself facing a tall man in a dark coat. In the wintery light, he could see the man's light brown hair was shot with premature gray. Half the man's face was a ruin of twisted, discolored flesh.

The man drew off his coat and gloves with an elegant shrug. Handing them to Jerome, he made a slight bow of the head toward his host, but he waited until the butler left before addressing the Comte de Chagny.

"Good morning, Father."


	11. The First Request

Chapter Eleven - The First Request

The Comte de Chagny stared at the man before him. There was no doubt in his mind as to his identity. He had not seen his son since the day the boy was born, but he knew the face. There could be no other man with that same deformity.

With a composure he did not feel, he extended his hand to his son.

"Erik. I hardly thought that I would ever...that is, I didn't think you were..."

"There is no need to excuse yourself. You never thought we would meet."

Charles stared at his son. Where had he been all these years? How had he made his way in the world?

"Please, will you be seated? Can I offer you coffee?"

Erik accpeted a seat across from the Comte's heavy mahogany desk.

"No, thank you. I don't drink coffee."

"Why have you come here, Erik? What do you want?"

"Two things."

The Comte nodded.

"Go on. If your requests are within reason, I will be happy to help you."

"I want the truth. I want to know what happened. My mother told me so little. Your name, the place where I was born. There are things I can surmise, but I want to hear it from you. Now."

He drew a piece of paper from his pocket. It was thickened and wrinkled by water-damaged. In some places, the ink had run. But certains words were all too clear.

_Erik de Chagny...Charles Auguste de Chagny...Marie-Madeleine de Chagny, nee Laspierre...October 29...183..._

He laid the baptismal record on the desk before his father.

"This tells me only part of the story. I want the rest."

Charles stared down at the page on his desk. What harm could come from telling him. He had a right to ask.

Charles leaned back in his chair and pulled the heavy brocade bell-pull.

"Jerome," he said, when the butler answered, "bring me a brandy. Erik, will you have anything? No? Just a brandy, then."

With the golden drink in his hand, Charles granted his son's first request.

"When you were born, your mother and I were in shock. We were young, married only eleven months. I don't make excuses for what we did. Neither of could believe that this thing...that you had happened to us. No one knew what to do. When Father Fremin came, he baptized you. He was the one who named you. I don't know why he chose Erik. I never thought to ask."

He paused and picked up the baptismal record, staring at the dead priest's bold writing. Some fifteen years after that nightmarish afternoon, that same hand recorded another birth in the de Chagny family.

_Raoul Philippe de Chagny, son of Charles-Auguste de Chagny and Isabelle Berthe de Chagny, nee Saint-Aignan. June 12, 1851._

"After you were baptized," the Comte continued, "after Father Fremin left, Marie and I said nothing to each other for the rest of the afternoon. I remember getting drunk. I was in a stupor of wine and rage for two days. When I was sober, the servants told me that my wife had left. She took you and vanished from this place."

"Yes," Erik said with a small nod, "she took me to Broecliende."

"I know. It took me almost a year to learn where she'd gone. I wrote to her, I even went to see her. She would not answer the letters and refused to see me. Right or wrong, I eventually stopped trying. A mutual friend would sometimes pass on new of her...and you. I knew that you vanished from her home one day. I tried to find you, but there was no sign. I assumed that you were dead...you were only a child. How could you survive in this world...with..."

"With this face? But I did. I survived, I existed. Now I _live._"

"Later," Charles went on, "the marriage was annulled and I married Isabelle. A year later, your brother was born."


	12. Encounter In A Yellow Room

Chapter Twelve - Encounter In A Yellow Room

Christine sat alone in the little parlor next to her bedroom. The walls were hung with lemon-yellow paper. The furniture was upholstered in rich green brocade and the room had a bright summery air that contrasted with the thick gray sky beyond the windows.

The parlor overlooked the chateau's gates. Christine stared down at the road. Where was her Angel now, she wondered. No, not her Angel, she thought with a smile. Her Erik.

Would he come again tonight? He had not said when he would return. Only that he would, that there was something he had to do. Something for her.

She leaned back in the comfort of the settee and closed her eyes. The de Chagny family had been generous in their welcome. She knew that Raoul would give her every luxury he could afford.

She wanted no part of it. She would rather sleep on a bed of thorns with Erik than spend another night in that soft bed with its rose damask hangings.

"You look very happy, Christine? What were you dreaming about? Our wedding, perhaps?"

Christine opened her eyes as Raoul leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Raoul, I wasn't expecting you. I thought you'd gone down to the village."

"It's too cold. Besides, your door was open and you looked so pretty with that smile on your face, I just had to come and kiss you."

With that, he pulled her from the chair and into his arms.

Christine's first thought was to pull away, but she knew it would make him suspicious. Until Erik returned for her, she would do nothing that might betray him in any way.. She was still engaged to the Vicomte and she would have to make the best of a situation that was quickly becoming unbearable.

"Darling Christine, let me make you happy. I want to make you forget everything."

She gently pushed herself free of his embrace.

"Please, don't talk that way, Raoul. My memories are my own, to keep as I wish."

She turned back to the window, but he followed her.

"Let me come to you tonight, Christine," he said, slipping his arms around her waist.

Christine was caught between Raoul and her own reflection in the window. She had never felt so trapped. Not even on that night when Erik, mad with anger, dragged her by force into the Opera cellars after _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"Raoul, no!"

The vehemence of her refusal caught him by surprise. He had not really expected her to give into him and he was willing to wait until their wedding night, if that was what she wanted. But he was shocked by the terror he heard in her voice.

He turned her to face him.

"Christine, what did that monster do to you?"


	13. Birthright

Chapter Thirteen - Birthright

The damascene clock on the mantle ticking off the minutes formed a counterpoint to the silence between the father and son in the library.

"There, Erik, is the truth you wanted. I make no excuses for my cowardice."

At last, Erik picked up the baptismal record from the Comte's desk. Folding it carefully, he replaced it in his pocket.

"You came here with two requests, Erik. I have granted you the first. I think I know what the second is."

"I ask only what is mine by right."

-

Isabelle de Chagny, in all her life, had never even thought of eavesdropping on her husband.

Now, she stood with her ear pressed against the sliding door that separated her sitting room from her husband's library.

She had been on the landing of the main stairs when Jerome admitted the stranger into the foyer. At first, she saw him only in profile, a tall man in a dark coat. Tall and handsome as her husband had been when they first married. Then he turned to answer some inquiry from the butler.

She'd bitten her lip so hard that blood had been drawn. Otherwise, she might have cried out at the sight of his face. The right side of it was a horror. The discolored skin puckered unevenly over the distorted features. His forehead was uneven, it seemed as if someone had torn away a section of his scalp and his twisted cheek seemed to have been dragged downward, away from his eye.

Isabelle had been on her way to see Christine, but when she saw Jerome lead the man into the library, she hurried down the stairs to her sitting room, to listen at the door.

She heard every word that past between her husband and that man, between the Comte de Chagny and his son.

She knew there had been a child from Charles' early first marriage. No one ever told her what became of the infant. She assumed it had died at birth and, in her distress, Marie had run away.

She pressed her hands to her eyes. She had seen that pitiful face before.

—

"You ask a great deal of me, Erik."

Charles picked up his glass. The brandy was long gone. Only a few droplets clung to the edge of the glass like golden tears.

"I ask for what is mine."

"You ask me to expose my wife to scandal, something that has never touched her. You would make me the object of gossips, disinherit my son."

For the first time in days, Erik felt his old anger returning.

"I am your son. Your elder son."

"I cannot do it. Right as it may be, I cannot do it, Erik!"

Erik rose. In the dull gray light, his father looked much older than his fifty-four years and his son towered over him.

But Erik's rage had passed.

"The chateau and the family fortune mean nothing to me. My brother is welcome to them. I did not come to disinherit him. You have only to acknowledge as your son. It need not be done public, but it must be legal."

"And the title? You would become the Comte de Chagny upon my death."

"The title is mine by birth. When that time comes, I will not refuse it."

"You ask too much of me, Erik! I would gladly make amends for the past, yet this I cannot do."


	14. Memories of a Red Scarf

Chapter 14 - Memories of a Red Scarf

"My God, Raoul," Christine cried, twisted away from the Vicomte, "why must you call him that."

"I can hardly call him by his name. I don't suppose he even had one. Christine, he was a monster. I am only sorry I didn't kill him in the cemetery."

Christine wanted to scream at him, to tell that his "monster" was a better man than he could ever know, that this man had a name.

She forced herself into silence. His time, their time had no yet come.

"Why defend him, Christine? He cannot hurt you again. I only want to help you, dear. I promised that I would be your shelter. Have you forgotten."

"No, Raoul. I have not forgotten," Christine said.

"One more kiss, then, love."

Christine let him kiss her. All the while, she fought back tears and, in her heart, begged for Erik's forgiveness.

"I will see you at dinner, then, Little Lotte," he said with a smile.

"Raoul, please don't call me that again."

"Whatever you wish, darling Christine. Until this evening."

When the Vicomte has gone, Christine shut herself in her bedroom. The blue dress she'd borrow from Isabelle was lovely, but a little too tight. She changed into a dressing gown and sat down before the fire.

What had happened to Raoul since those happy days along the Breton shore? He'd been such a charming boy, her playmate. The generous, golden-haired lad who had run after her scarf when the wind tossed it into the sea.

He was still bold and generous, but there was something in him that she was now repulsive to her.

She found herself remembering the night the Angel of Music took her through the mirror. Raoul had come to the dressing room after the gala and she had been delighted to see him after so many years apart.

He'd insisted that she accompany him to dinner. She told him that it was quite impossible and he'd dismissed her refusal with a patronizing laugh.

He'd been spoiled his entire life. He'd never suffered, never known pain. Whatever he wanted, he'd been given.

And he would never see beyond himself, beyond what he wanted.

Erik had known only suffering. When he finally had the one thing he wanted, he relinquished it. Of his own free will.

She wondered if Erik realized that when she kiss him on that night...before the mob came, before he ordered her to leave with Raoul...that she had chosen him in love, not in fear. When she kissed him, she did so to free her Angel...not Raoul.

Resting her head on her arm, she was certain that he knew.


	15. A Generous Woman

Chapter Fifteen - A Generous Woman

The door to the library slid open.

Startled by Isabelle's sudden appearence, Charles let the glass fall. Shards of glass blossomed across the carpet.

Had much had she heard?

Erik started to turn away from the woman and, out of habit, raised his hand to cover the right side of his face. Then he stopped. He would not hide from her.

"Charles, give him what he asks.

"Isabelle, how much did you hear?"

"More than I should have. Charles, for as long as I have known you, you have always been a man of great honor. Do not change now."

"You are asking me to disinherit your son?"

Her heavy silk skirts rustled as she crossed the room and laid her delicate hand on Erik's arm.

"He is your son, too, Charles."

Erik rose, but he could not find the words to address this generous woman. So few people had shown him kindness that he did not know how to respond to it.

He held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation.

"Thank you, Madame."

The Comte de Chagny stared at his wife in surprise. She had always been a shy, timid woman, but now she stood face to face with Erik and looked without at him without disgust. She had always been so protective of her own son, yet now she came to Erik's defense.

"Very well. Erik, I will acknowledge you as my son and heir to my name."

Still holding Erik's hand, Isabelle kissed her husband's cheek.

"Thank you, Charles. Only, don't tell Raoul yet. I will speak to him in the morning."

Isabelle looked up at Erik again and smiled.

"I should like to know you better, Erik. Will you join us for dinner tonight?"

"I would be honored."

She released his hand.

"Then I will see you again this evening."

With that, she left them.

Charles said nothing when his wife left.

Finally, Erik spoke.

"Your wife is a noble woman, sir. I wish my own mother had such courage."

Charles rose.

"I wish I had her courage, too. I wish to God I did."

There was another silence between the father and the son. After all, what could one say when so many years had passed. They were only strangers to each other.

"Erik," Charles said at last, "what made you come here? You've known this all these years. Why now?"

"Because I am going to be married."

Charles looked up at the man who stood before him. He concealed his surprise too late.

"Yes," Erik thought, "that's another shock isn't it, Father. But there is a woman who loves me, who will be my living bride."


	16. A Boy In A Cage

Chapter 16 - A Boy In A Cage

"Married? Well, then I wish you...I congratulate you, Erik."

Charles realized how stilted his words sounded.

"We will see you at dinner, then."

Erik nodded, but before he left, he had one final question for the Comte de Chagny.

"There is a page missing from the baptismal records. A duplicate of the one I have. Do you know what became of it?"

Charles let out a sigh. It was the only time he had ever stolen.

"When Raoul was born, I asked Father Fremin if I might look through the older volumes. I cut the page out. I wanted to forgot your mother and you. I eased my conscience with a generous donation in the poor box."

-

After she left the library, Isabelle de Chagny went upstairs. She stopped first at Christine's door and knocked softly.

"Come in," answered the young woman's voice from within.

Isabelle opened the door and saw Christine sitting in the chair before the fire.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, my dear. I only wanted to see if you were alright. Do you need anything?"

"No, Madame. Thank you. You've been so kind to me. All of you."

"You should send for Berthe soon and dress for dinner. We are going to have a guest this evening."

She then retreated to the calm blue and white haven of her own room.

She had indeed seen that face before.

She remembered a day, a summer afternoon. It was more than twenty years ago, she was still a girl and had not yet met Charles.

She was visiting her grandparents. Her cousins were there, too. Lisette, Daphne, and Theo. There was a traveling fair in town, not much more than a collection of sordid sideshows. How they had begged for permission to go.

She could not remember the fair very well. It was a blur of gaudy colors and dark tents.

But she could remember that cage and the boy inside of it. A skinny thing, huddled on the straw, a gray sack over his head. An enormous man, a gypsy seized the boy and dragged him to the front of the cage. The huge hands yanked the sack off the child's face.

She'd been afraid then. She'd turned away, unable to look. Another girl stood close by, a fair-haired girl in a tight white frock and a dark blue cape. That girl had been brave enough to look and Isabelle had seen pity in her eyes.

"Poor Erik," she said quietly.


	17. Evening

Chapter Seventeen - Evening

Returning to his room at the inn, Erik sent the owner to find suitable evening clothes.

He would see his Christine again that night.

He looked out the window. The sun was setting now. He saw its final rays gilding the stone steeple of the church, the roof of the chateau beyond.

Reflected in the darkening glass, he saw himself.

He pictured Christine when they met in the shadow of the bare almond tree. He'd seen the sudden light in her eyes, then, when she looked on him without his mask. He still felt her gentle hand pressed against his face.

Had she given him a soul, a soul he'd never had? Or had she found the soul already there, buried beneath the hate and ravaged flesh?

The patron's heavy knock at the door interrupted his reverie.

As requested, the man brought a formal suit and a heavy dress cloak.

"Will you be returning tonight, Monsieur? The weather may be very unpleasant later."

"You expect snow?"

"Not snow, Monsieur. It is far too warm. But the freezing rain can make travel difficult."

"I shall probably want this room for another day or two. Still, in case I don't return, I shall settle the bill now."

—

Christine slowly descended the stairs. Her dressed was borrowed, but it suited her as if it had be made for her. The soft sage green of the watered silk gave her radiance to her fair skin and a deeper sheen to her hair. A cluster of delicate pink velvet roses was pinned to the bodice.

Raoul met her on the last landing.

"You look exquisite, Little Lot...I mean, Christine."

Offering her his arm, he led her into the parlor.

The guest Isabelle mention had not arrived yet. Aunt Philomene in her usual black gown was seated on the settee, with Charles. The Comte seemed rather anxious, his eyes often turned toward the door. Aunt Louise, in garnet velvet, stood near the mantle with Isabelle.

Stilled holding Christine's arm, Raoul glanced around at his family.

"What's all this? We seem to be waiting for someone."

"We are waiting for someone," Aunt Louise answered, "Your mother tells us we are expecting a guest."

Christine felt his grip on her arm tighten ever so slightly.

"A guest, Aunt? I had thought this was to be a family party."


	18. A Family Party, Indeed

Chapter Eighteen - A Family Party, Indeed

Erik followed Jerome through the foyer. The butler held open the door to the parlor.

"The family is gathered in there, sir."

He saw them all in a single glance. His father seated beside a woman in black. The countess in pale blue stood beside another woman in wine-colored velvet.

In the center of the room, he saw his half-brother. The young man seemed no worse for wear after the nightmare beneath the Opera House.

Christine drew her hand from Raoul's arm and came to stand before him.

For a moment, Erik felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe. She seemed more beautiful each time he saw her.

The only sound in the room was the sputtering of a candle.

Christine said nothing, but taking both his hands in hers, she leaned close to him and kissed him gently.

There was truly no going back now.

He looked at the people around him. The woman in black had turned her face away. The woman in burgundy looked as if she would faint. He saw, too, the rage building in his brother's eyes.

Erik turned to face his father.

"Sir, you seem to have already met Mademoiselle Daae. I present her to you again as my bride-to-be."

Charles rose and looked at the couple before him. There was something happening here that he did not understand. He had cut short his stay in London and returned home to find that Raoul had brought Christine Daae to the chateau with the intent of marrying her at once.

In the course of one day, everything had changed.

"You have taken your brother's inheritance," the Comte said, keeping his voice low so that Raoul could not hear, "would you take away the woman he loves, too? Would you take everything from him?"

It was Christine who answered him.

"I was never truly his. Forgive me, Monsieur. I never wished to deceive you. Or to hurt Raoul. I believed Erik was dead," she said, her voice breaking at the last word.

Her hand still in Erik's, she looked at her childhood sweetheart.

"Please, forgive me. Raoul, I will also think of you fondly as the boy who rescued my scarf from the sea."

Blue eyes dark with hate, Raoul did not reply to her.

"Monster," he spat out, "What hold do you have on her?"

Isabelle caught her son's arm.

"Raoul! Be careful what you say! This man is your own brother."

The young man turned on the Comtesse.

"Mother, you have never lied to me before..."

The door connecting the parlor with the dinning room open and Jerome entered.

"Madame, the table is ready."

Before the butler had left, Raoul shook off his mother's hand.

"I will not sit across the table from a demon.!"


	19. The Devil's Child

Chapter Nineteen - The Devil's Child

Raoul pushed past his mother and the stunned butler to the foyer door and flung it open.

He held out his hand to Christine.

"No, Raoul. There is nothing between us."

And she turned away from him.

There was tense silence in the room as they heard Raoul's footsteps echo on the stairs.

Isabelle followed him, but paused at the door.

"I will speak with him. His outburst was unforgivable. Jerome, please have dinner served. I will join you later."

Christine left Erik's side for the first time.

"Madame, I am sorry. I never meant to bring division into your house."

Isabelle patted the young woman's arm reassuringly.

"The fault lies with me, Christine. Raoul is my only child and I fear that I was too indulgent with him. It may have been my greatest mistake."

The dinner was a quiet and strained affair.

Charles sat at the head of the table, wishing for the comfort of his wife's presence.

Neither Louise nor Philomene could bring herself to look directly at their new-found nephew, though Philomene, seated to his left, glanced at him furtively from time to time.

Erik often looked up to see Christine's eyes on him. But even for them, there was no peace that evening. They had both seen Raoul's fury.

-

Dessert had been finished when Isabelle rejoined them.

As they rose from the table, she drew Erik aside.

"May I speak with you?"

She led him into her sitting room, and lit a single lamp.

"There is something I want to ask you, Erik."

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of the reaction her question would draw from him.

"Are you...were you the Devil's Child?"

Erik stared down at the thick carpet with its pattern of golden flowers set against dark blue. The lady's question had surprised him. More surprising, though was that the memories it provoked no longer hurt him.

"Yes, Madame, I was once called The Devil's Child."

"I saw you then. I saw you, but I could not look at you. There was another girl, a pretty blonde girl standing next to me. She had more courage than I. After, I hated myself for being a coward."

"Only a fool would call you a coward, Madame. Perhaps it took just as much bravery to look away when other stared and laughed."

Isabelle smiled at him.

"You love Christine a great deal, I could see it when you first looked at her in the parlor."

"She has been my salvation."

"Perhaps it seems strange for me to say this, to go against my flesh and blood, but Erik...I am glad Christine has chosen you. I would be proud to have you as my own son."

Erik took the Comtesse's hand and, bowing, pressed it to his lips.

-

In the foyer, Erik was met by Jerome.

"Should you wish to spend the night here, Monsieur, a room has been prepared for you."

Erik accepted the offer of a room. He felt alien in this house, but he would not leave Christine alone in this place with Raoul.

"Also, Mademoiselle Daae wishes to speak with you before you retire. Her rooms are across the hall from yours."


	20. No Angels, No Ghosts

Chapter Twenty - No Angels, No Ghosts

Erik opened the door to her room.

She was standing before the mirror. She had changed from her rich green gown into a white dressing gown and was just reaching up to unpin her coiled braid.

She saw him in the glass, but she did not turn.

It was so like the night of the Gala...the night when an Angel became a Phantom.

Now there were no angels, no ghosts.

He laid his hands on her shoulders. Her loosened hair fell, covering his fingers as their eyes met in the mirror.

Christine reached up and touched his face as she had that night. Only this time, there was neither mask nor illusion between them.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to speak.

"You...wished to see me, Christine?"

She had closed her eyes, too, and leaned back against him.

"Erik...when I kissed you...that night. It wasn't for Raoul. I chose because I love you. Because I want to be your wife. My soul is yours and, when you sent me away, I felt it dying within me."

Her dark hair tangled about his wrist as he gently caressed her neck.

Suddenly, Christine opened her eyes and turned to look up at him. Something Isabelle had said in the parlor came back to her, something she had almost missed in her joy at seeing her beloved again.

"What did she mean, Erik? What did Madame de Chagny mean when she said _this man is your own brother_?"

"Christine, the Comte de Chagny is my father. My mother...the mother who would never look on this face..was his first wife. That's one of the reasons I came here, Christine."

"Raoul is your brother. Erik, I never knew, I never imagined."

"Hush, beloved Christine. Don't think of him, don't let him come between us now."

He pulled her close again and kissed her. He felt her arms around him, her body yielding against his own.

Once again, he felt the tears on his face. What was it about her, about her kiss that could make him weep?

She must have tasted the tears because she looked up at him. Then, standing on her toes, she kissed away his tears.


	21. It Was For Her Alone

ChapterTwenty-One - It Was For Her Alone

Erik let the door to Christine's room close softly behind him. Alone in the dark hallway, he took a deep breath.

He could have taken her then. He had only to got back to her...to the woman he loved beyond all reasoning.

He shook his head to clear the haze of desire from his mind.

"You filthy bastard!"

Raoul stood at the head of the stairs; he had seen Erik leaving Christine's bedroom.

Erik turned to face his brother. He had no reply for him. He knew that there was nothing that he could say to convince Raoul that Christine had chosen him freely. That, if anything, he was the one who had fallen under her innocent spell.

Raoul gave him no chance to answer. He lunged at Erik. But, in the shadows of the hall, Erik had the advantage. Living for so long within the Opera House, his eyes were used to the darkness and he easily avoided the blow.

In a second, he had caught the Vicomte's wrist and pinned his brother to the wall.

And in that second the old hate came flooding back through him. He could kill this fool so easily. There would be no Christine present to bargain for his worthless life.

He could do it so quickly, before the boy could cry out. He could take Christine and run from this place.

She need never know the fate of her childhood sweetheart. He could make sure of that.

Was she asleep now? Was she lost in dreams beyond that heavy door?

No! He couldn't go back. He wouldn't lose everything she had given him.

He had come here for her. It was only for her sake that he had faced the father who had refused to look at him as a newborn. It was for her alone...

Ever so slowly, he relaxed his hold on Raoul.

His brother did not move.

"Tomorrow...tomorrow this ends, _brother._

-

Christine lay awake in the bed. She had not drawn the curtains and could see the gray clouds drifting low along the horizon.

Erik has pushed her away, ever so gently he had released himself from her arms and left her.

She reached up and touched her lips. They were still wet with his tears.

What would have happened if he had not left her then.

She sat up. Had there been a noise in the hall? For a second, she thought she heard a voice. Then silence. No, it was nothing. Perhaps Jerome was just closing the house for the night.

She let herself settle back into the pillows. She was thinking of a night filled with candles, a night when a man in a white porcelain mask held her in his arms...

She whispered his name as she fell asleep.


	22. Only Come With Me

Chapter Twenty-Two - Only Come With Me

"Tomorrow...tomorrow this ends, _brother_! And, this time, my mother will not be there to intercede for you. Oh, yes...I know she talked Father into this. You stole Christine from me, you've taken my title...you even turn my own mother against me! You're trying to take everything away from me..."

Raoul paused, his breathing hard and slow.

"The world was given to you for nothing," Erik interrupted, "and it wasn't enough for you. You tried to steal_ the only thing _that I ever had. How many times have you tried to take her from me and failed!"

He kept his voice low; he did not want her to hear them. Whatever happened, this must not touch her.

"Christine doesn't love you. An angel cannot love the devil."

"Do you think you can hurt me by calling me a devil? Christine is mine. There is nothing that can change that now."

Raoul grabbed Erik's collar.

"Tomorrow. At noon. There is an old Roman aqueduct to the south of the estate. We will finish what was begun in the cemetery. And neither my mother nor Christine will be there to prevent me from killing you this time."

"Until noon, then," Erik answered with a calm he did not feel. He pulled Raoul's hand from his coat.

—

Christine awoke to find Erik beside her bed, leaning over her.

"Quickly, Christine...come with me."

"What is it?"

"Hurry and find a dress and cloak. Oh, Christine, trust me now."

"I have always trusted you, Erik." she said as she hurried from the bed to the armoire. She found a dress of dark gray wool with a heavy hooded cape.

"Where are we going? What has happened," she asked as she slipped behind the screen and hastily changed into the clothes.

"Don't ask me yet, only come with me."

Emerging from behind the screen, she took his hand.

Without another word, he led her from the room and down the stairs. He kept her close, guiding her in the darkness.

Once they reached the stables, he saddled his horse and mounted it. He leaned down and drew her up before him.

He walked the horse from the stables, keeping to the softer earth to the side of the long drive. He did not want the sound of the horse's hooves to reach the house.

Only when they had passed the gates did he spur the chestnut horse to a gallop,


	23. Let Me Be Your Wife

Chapter Twenty-Three - Let Me Be Your Wife

Erik kept his eyes on the dirt road that lay ahead of them. Above, the bare trees seemed to claw at the clouds, at the night.

He did not slow the horse until they had reached the low steps of the church.

He dismounted and helped her down. Before he let her go, he tipped her face up toward his.

"Christine, an hour ago you told me you want to be my wife. Tell that me that again."

"Erik, let me be your wife. Please."

Erik pounded on the door of the priest's house. Within minutes, Father Bruyas answered the knock.

-

The clock in the tower of the village hall was chiming midnight when Erik took Christine's hand in his.

"I, Christine Anne Daae take thee, Erik de Chagny to be my husband."

-

As they rode away from the church, the icy rain began to fall. Christine let her face rest against her husband's shoulder.

"All long as we both shall live," she whispered to him. He could hear surprise and joy in her voice.

He forced himself not to think about tomorrow, about the appointed hour at the aqueduct.

No, Christine, even beyond life, he thought.

"Erik, where are we going?"

"We're returning to the chateau."

"But why. Oh, my love, I don't want to go back there now. There is no reason."

"There is one thing I must to Christine. Tomorrow."

"And then?"

"And then, Christine, we will leave. Surely, there is some place in this world for us," he said, though it took all his strength to keep his voice from breaking, "you will sing for me again. We will have our music, our happiness..."

"Our children," Christine added, shyly.

—

The freezing rain was beginning to glaze the trees and ground as he returned the horse to the stable and led Christine back to her room as quietly as they had left it.


	24. A Borrowed Bed

Chapter Twenty-four - A Borrowed Bed

Even once they reached Christine's room, he did not speak. He threw his damp cloak across a chair and helped her remove hers.

Christine reached up to let her fingers trace along his ragged hairline. She was smiling at him.

"What is it, Christine? Why are you smiling like that?"

"I realized how beautiful you are, Erik. Strange that I never knew it before."

Erik caught her other hand in his and tenderly kissed her soft palm.

"Christine, my bride," he whispered, "how can you love me? I deceived you so many times, I threatened you. Knowing this, how can you still love me."

She did not answer him with words. She drew his face close to hers and kissed him.

He pulled her against him as he returned her kiss. She felt the pounding of his heart, his strong hands on her waist.

This time, the tears were in Christine's eyes.

-

In his room, Raoul de Chagny shrugged off his waistcoat and shirt. He leaned close to the mirroe to examine the wound to his arm.

It no longer pained him and would be no hindrance to him on the morrow.

He knew that Christine would be happy once she was free of the Phantom. He would take her away, perhaps to that little town by the sea where they first met. He would buy a red scarf for her, one of fine silk.

—

Erik's hands trembled as he undid the first of the jet buttons on Christine's bodice; she had dressed in haste and wore no corset beneath the gray gown, only her white chemise.

She caught her breath as his knuckles brushed against her skin. Why did his touch surprise her now? It was not the first time she had felt her hands on his body, she thought. She could still feel the caresses of _Don Juan Triumphant._

"Erik, you must tell me something now. Is tonight...is it the first time for us? That night...when I followed you through the mirror...after I fainted...did you..."

She blushed and found she couldn't ask him, after all, but he understood her question.

"No, Christine, I did not."

-

Isabelle de Chagny could not sleep. She left her husband's side and paced the length of the bedroom.

There was a tension in the air that oppressed her. She had done her best to explain things to her son. Raoul said nothing after their conversation. She was not sure what reaction she had expected from him, but his silence frightened her.

-

Erik caught Christine up in his arms. His eyes never left hers as he laid her on the bed..

Tenderly, he caressed the bare skin above the chemise as he kissed her again and again.

"Christine, my beloved...my Christne," he whispered against her neck.

Tonight, the waiting would be over. She would be his now, heart and soul and body. And he would be hers. Forever.

No! Not here and now.

Not in a borrowed bed, in a strange house that would never truly welcome or accept its prodigal son. He could not do this to her, not knowing what the morning would bring.

For the second time that night, he let her go.


	25. Stay With Me Tonight

Chapter Twenty-five - Stay With Me Tonight

Erik tried to rise from the bed, but Christine caught his arm.

"Erik, what is wrong..."

She could not comprehend the sudden change in him. She wanted him, she wanted to surrender herself to her husband.. And she knew the desire was mutual. Then why was he leaving her?

"Christine, please don't ask me to explain now. I want nothing more than...but it is better this way, my love."

"Erik, please, I don't understand...tell me what is wrong."

"Before we were married, I asked you to trust in me. Beloved, give me that trust again. I don't want to see you hurt."

Christine shook her head and tried to pull him down beside her.

"Erik, you could never harm me."

"Christine, believe me when I tell you that I would give the world to...to make love to you tonight. I promise you...you will understand tomorrow why."

He eased her hand from his arm and rose. He forced himself not to look back at her, but he saw her in his mind. He saw her lying there on the rose-hued coverlet, her soft hair in a loose braid, her gray dress half-open and twisted around her. The desire in her eyes giving way to confusion and disbelief.

Only days ago, he had sent her away from him. Leaving her now was so much worse.

Christine sat up in the bed. Another second and he would be gone. He had reached the door and not once had he looked back at her.

"Erik, don't leave me alone. Stay with me tonight. Nothing more...just stay with me."

His hand was on the door when he finally turned.

"Please, stay with me."

How could he refuse her this?

Outside, the rain had turned to snow. He could see the white flakes spinning down through the bare tree branches.

"Very well, Christine. I will stay with you."

Returning to the bed, he lay down beside her.

"Promise, Erik, that you will never leave me."

"I promise you that, Christine," he said, cradling her in his arms, "If nothing else, love, I promise you that."

"Thank you, Erik."

He held her close and he sang to her, his voice so soft and tender, a song meant only for her to hear.

At last, they fell asleep, her smooth cheek resting against his disfigured one.


	26. All I Have To Give You

Chapter Twenty-Six - All I Have To Give You

It was the peace that awakened him.

He half-expected to wake up alone, once again in the cellars of the Opera House. He thought to find himself slumped over the keys of the organ. Often, during those brutal nights when he composed _Don Juan Triumphant_, he'd fallen asleep like that when exhaustion at last drained the rage from his body, if not his soul.

No, he was here in his father's house. In Christine's bedroom. In his bride's embrace.

Her arms were entwined around him, her body nestled against him. Her breath was warm and soft on his neck.

Had he been a fool not to take her? She was his wife, it was his right.

How much time did they have now? Was it only hours or a lifetime?

If he did not survive the day, what would become of her?

There was still time. He could awaken her, they could leave...together.

He turned towards her and shook her gently.

"Christine, wake up."

She opened her eyes slowly and, when she saw him, she smiled.

If only it could always be this way, seeing her smile each morning.

There was something that needed to be said.

He sat up and reached into the inner pocket of his now-rumpled jacket. He took out two pieces of paper. Unfolding them, he laid them in her hands. One was his baptismal record, the other a record of their marriage.

"Erik, why are you giving me these now?"

He took her hand and held it near his heart.

"Listen to me, Christine, listen to me carefully. Keep these papers safe. Do not lose them, not matter what. If anything should happen to me...they are the only proof...of my birth, of our marriage. Do you understand me?"

"Erik, you are frightening me. What is going to happen to you. Please, don't talk like that."

"Christine, tell me you will do as I say. Guard those papers, keep then with you. They are all I have to give you."

He took her pale face in his hands.

"Christine, whatever this day brings, know that I love you. Nothing can alter that love. _Nothing_."

He knew that to kiss her now would be more than he could endure. He already felt his soul breaking under the strain. If he kissed her now, he would lose his resolve, he would take her and run.

Abruptly, he rose and left the room as the clock on the mantle chimed nine times.


	27. One Truth

Chapter Twenty-seven - One Truth

Christine took breakfast alone in her room. Erik's behavior puzzled her.

After the sweet seduction of their first meeting in the flickering candlelight and the darker passions of _Don Juan Triumphant, _why did he turn away from her when the vows were at last spoken?

His words disturbed her. She'd heard the fear in his voice when he gave her those papers. Oh, he'd tried to disguise it from her, but she was not deceived. Something was troubling him.

_There is one thing I must do..._

_If something should happen to me..._

What did he mean? She knew she had no choice, but to trust him and to wait.

The gray cloak still lay across the chair where he had thrown it. She picked it up to return it to the armoire. Something fell from it. A little purse of rich green silk. Erik must have slipped it into her pocket when they returned from the church.

From their wedding.

-

Erik returned to the inn and sent for the patron.

"Monsieur, I need you to obtain a good sword for me at once."

When the startled proprietor had gone, Erik removed his clothes he had slept in. Whatever fate awaited him by the old aqueduct, he would not meet it like a beggar.

He had given Nadir's money to Christine. Had she found it yet?

He wondered if he would ever see her again. Would he ever look into her eyes and see his own love reflected in them? Would he ever hold her into the night, hear her voice calling for him?

Once he had dressed, he found some paper and a pencil in the room. He sat down and began to write. The words did not come to him easily this time, they seemed to drown in the terrible flood of emotions.

_My beloved wife,_

_If this letter is in your gentle hands, it is because I am now dead. Oh, my only love...you will never know how much you have given me. _

_I can never tell you these things...they cannot be confined to words._

_Christine, I have never been worthy of your love, yet you have given it to me. _

_And, in loving me, you have saved me from myself, from the blackness and hate of my life. _

_You once called me the Angel of Music, but, Christine, it is you who are an angel. My angel._

_Christine, there is one truth for me now...I love you._

_Erik_

When the patron returned, Erik gave him the note.

"If I do not return by tonight, you are to take this letter to the de Chagny estate. A young woman is staying there. Her name is Christine. You must deliver it to her in person. Give it only to her."


	28. I Expected You To Run

Chapter Twenty-eight - I Expected You To Run

It was not yet noon when Erik found the Roman aqueduct. It emerged from a series of low hills and reached out across a shallow, uneven valley.

Half the arches were intact, as if newly built. The other half lay in crumbled ruins.

A thin, crisp lace of snow lay over the ground.

Erik tied the reins of his horse to a tree and waited.

-

Christine stood still as Berthe laced the corset for her.

She tried to ignore the curious glances from the maid. Jerome had witnessed part of the scene in the parlor and Christine was certain that every servant in the house was dizzy with the gossip.

As the girl helped her into a dark green afternoon dress, Isabelle hurried into the room. Christine was startled by the lady's obvious agitation.

"Christine, I must speak to you. Berthe, go downstairs."

When the maid had gone, Isabelle took the younger woman by the hand. Christine could see that the Comtesse had been crying.

"Christine, is Erik here?"

"No, Madame. I have not seen him since early this morning. When I asked after him, Jerome said he had gone back to the inn."

"Christine, Raoul means to kill him."

-

Erik leaned back against one of the massive supports of the aqueduct. He could feel the cold stone through his clothing. It helped to calm him.

"I expected you to run."

He looked up and saw his brother.

"I could have," Erik answered quietly, "I could have taken taken Christine and disappeared forever."

"Are you as mad as that? You think _you_ could hide? With that face, you would never..."

"Enough! We did not come here to _talk_!"

-

"Kill him? Oh, Madame...tell me...what has happened?"

Christine's face had gone white at Isabelle's words. The Comtesse nodded.

"This morning, I was in my sitting room. The door to the library was open just a little and Raoul didn't know I was there. I heard him ask Jerome for his sword."

"His sword! My God! Madame, it can't be true."

"Yes, he asked for his sword and then I heard the words _the aqueduct...at noon._"

Christine looked at the clock. It was five minutes after twelve.

"Madame, where is this place, the aqueduct?"

"It's just south of the house...a ten-minute ride. The road beyond the garden gate leads straight to it.

Christine ran to the dressing table. The papers lay there, the baptismal and marriage records. She hurriedly slipped the papers and the silk purse into the bodice of her dress. Then she picked up the gray cloak.

"Christine, where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know...I cannot lose my love again. Isabelle, Erik is my husband. We were married last night."


	29. To Whose Advantage

Chapter Twenty-nine - To Whose Advantage

Christine flew down the stairs, almost falling in her haste. She went out to the stableyard and found one of grooms.

"Can I help you, Mademoiselle?"

"Please, saddle a horse for me. Quickly."

"Is there something wrong, Mademoiselle? If there is an emergency at the house, I can ride to the village for you."

"No, please...I need the horse," she breathed heavily against the tight stays of her corset, "not a side-saddle...I don't know how to ride that way. Please, hurry!"

Could she do this? She hadn't ridden on her own since she was a little girl and her father had taught her to ride on a borrowed pony.

The groom helped her onto the horse.

Clinging to the reins, Christine prayed she was not too late.

-

In her bedroom, Isabelle knelt beside her bed and covered her face with her hands. She knew that she feared for Erik's safety as much as that of her only child.

-

Erik drew his sword. It was foreign in his hand, heavier than his old one. He sensed that Raoul had the advantage here; he knew the land.

He tried to remember that evening in the cemetery, tried to recall how his brother fought.

He could not. All he remembered was the humiliation, the hate...the need for revenge that had led to a shattered chandelier and an Opera House in flames.

This time, it was Raoul who attacked first.

Erik spun aside, blocking his brother's blow. He had seen that one coming.

He felt the earth; it was hard and uneven. The thin layer of snow-dusted ice slipped and cracked beneath his boots as he countered another blow.

To whose advantage would that work?

-

The path ended at the edge of a low hill overlooking the ruined portion of the aqueduct. Christine saw two horses tethered there. She slid awkwardly off hers and tied it with the others.

The ride had been short and swift, but her legs ached already and she slipped, falling hard on the frozen ground.

-

Raoul countered Erik's attack now, but soon he found himself boxed in by the broken stones.

If Erik seized his opportunity, the blade would slice across his brother's face. If he lived, he would bear a great scar.

He lunged, but at the last second stepped to the right, the blade missing Raoul by inches.


	30. First Blood

Chapter Thirty - First Blood

Christine carefully struggled to her feet, amazed that she could still stand and walk.

Trying not to slip again, she made her way to the edge of the gentle slope.

-

When he sidestepped to the right, Erik had given Raoul a chance to leap clear of the stone corner.

He realized he had lost his advantage and he knew his adversary realized it, too.

Raoul's blade tore across the front of Erik's shirt. There had not been much force in the downward blow, but it was just enough. A small red stain appeared on Erik's shirt.

"First blood," Raoul cried.

"Fool," Erik snarled, "I gave you first blood the last time. It means nothing to us!"

For a moment, he though he saw a movement on the crest of the hill...the figure of a woman. And it seemed, almost that he heard a cry carried on the wind.

Raoul seized on the second of distraction and pressed his attack.

Erik leaped backwards ahead of a violent thrust and found himself striking against the stone pylon of the aqueduct. He hit it hard, knocking the breath from his body and the sword from his hand.

It struck a rock point first and broke.

-

Christine forced herself not to cry out again, clutching the low-hanging branch of a tree until the bark dug into her palms.

No, not Erik...not Erik...

-

The tip of Raoul's sword pressed againt Erik's neck. In a moment, it would be over. Tonight, the innkeeper would deliver the letter to the chateau to Christine.

He had promised that he would be with her always. Would that promise be broken now?

"Christine, forgive me."

The mention of her name brought new intensity to the rage in his brother's eyes.

"Tell me one thing, _Erik_," he spat, "did you force her?"

Erik could feel the familiar darkness surging up within him. His soul was sinking into it.

"_Damn you_," he screamed, _"she is my wife_"


	31. Erik, Look At Me

Chapter Thirty-one - Erik, Look At Me

The rage, the blackness was comforting to Erik. It had always been there for him. He would not fight against it.

He had told Nadir that the Assassin of Mazanderan was dead and gone, buried with Phantom in the ash and ruins of the Opera House.

He had lied.

Erik dove down to the left, reaching into the top of his boot as he hit the ground

In the same motion, he struck at Raoul's legs from behind. His brother could not hold his balance on the icy ground and fell.

Raoul hit the earth face first and his sword slid away, coming to rest in the tangle of a thorn bush. A strong hand grabbed him by his shoulder and he found himself on his back.

Erik ground his knee into Raoul's chest. He was breathing heavily, his teeth gritted. The Persian knife that Darius had given him lay against his brother's throat.

It was so easy. A single cut and he would be free of this damned boy.

He looked and saw Christine standing before him.

He didn't want to meet her eyes. He was afraid of the fear and hate he would see in them.

He saw only pity as she held out her hands to him.

He rose slowly. The dagger fell to the ground as he stepped away from his brother.

He did not take her outstretched hands. He turned from her, raising his hand like a mask.

"Erik, look at me."

There was a strength in her voice that he had never heard before, but he would not face her.

"Christine...I am a monster."

"Erik, no! You are my husband, you are the man I love."

She laid her hands on his shoulders, but Erik made no move to hold her. It was as if he had forfeited that right.

"There is no Angel, no Phantom," she whispered, "there is only you, only my beloved, my Erik."

It was only when she kissed him that he at last embraced her, his hands trembling against her waist.

When she released him, he turned towards his brother. Still stunned, Raoul had struggled to sit up. Erik hold out his hand to him.

Raoul did not accept the offer of help. He scrambled to his feet, staring at Christine and Erik. There was defeat in his eyes.

He walked away.


	32. Innocence and Passion

Chapter 32 - Innocence and Passion

They did not return to the chateau, but to the inn. A few people in the foyer turned to stare at the disfigured man with his arm about the shoulders of a bedraggled young woman.

She said nothing, but followed him up the worn stairs to his room.

The proprietor met them before they had reached the door.

"Monsieur, since you have returned, I assume you will want this."

He handed Erik the letter.

"Erik, what is that," Christine asked as they entered the room.

"A letter," he said, lighting a candle. The sun has just set and the room was filling with shadows.

"It was meant for you, Christine, if I did not come back to you."

"May I read it now?"

"You little prying Pandora," he said, but he was smiling as he handed her the paper.

He watched her as she unfolded the paper and leaned close to the candle to see it clearly. As she read it, he slipped the heavy cloak from her shoulders and gently caressed her disheveled hair.

_Christine, I have never been worthy of your love, yet you have given it to me...And, in loving me, you have saved me from myself, from the blackness and hate of my life..._

He laid his palm against her back, felt the beating of her heart and the sobs that shook her

"Hush, my sweet Christine, there is one truth for me now...I love you."

She turned and looked up at him, the letter lay abandoned on the table.

Shyly, she reached up and opened his shirt collar. Blushing as befitted a bride, she tenderly brushed her lips against the base of his throat.

He pressed her close to him and she felt the tremor in his hands as he unfastened the hooks of her dress.

"Erik, are you...afraid?"

But there were no more words and lifted her in his arms and held her close.

He laid her down on the narrow bed. As he looked into her shining eyes, he could feel himself drowning in her soul.

As innocence and passion merged, not even the darkness of the winter's night could come between them.


	33. Paris, 1919

Epilogue - Paris, 1919

Over forty years had passed since the encounter beneath the Roman aqueduct and Raoul de Chagny knew the time had come to seek absolution.

He knew it was too late for such things, really. Christine has passed away two years earlier; she would never know.

He would do it for himself, as much as for her.

Only a month earlier, the doctors in London had confirmed what he already knew.

He'd left France after the duel, though his mother had wept at his departure and urged him to make peace with his brother.

Two years after his arrival in London, he'd married...an Earl's daughter with bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. They had been happy together, raised their children in the green of the English countryside.

But often...too often...he found himself remembering a gala night in a Parisian opera house and a young girl in a shimmering white gown.

_Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do...there will never be a day when I won't think of you._

From time to time, he heard news of them...bits and pieces only. He knew that Erik had, on their father's death, become the Comte de Chagny...that they spent little time at the family chateau, however, preferring to pass their days in on a small estate in the Pyrenees.

It was said the lovely Comtesse de Chagny sang with the voice of an angel and than when he heard her voice, the deformed face of her husband seemed transfigured.

He knew there were four children. Two sons whose names were Charles and Gustave, and two girls, Anne and Isabelle.

He heard of Gustave de Chagny's death in the Great War. His own son, Theodore, had also died in the fighting. He wondered if the two cousins had met.

He saw them only once, a passing glimpse of them one sunny afternoon when he'd returned to Paris on business. He saw them in the Bois, in the company of an elderly man once known to Opera patrons as The Persian.

They did not see him and he did not approach them.

His chauffeur maneuvered the automobile through the narrow paths of the cemetery. It was a cold, dry afternoon and it hurt Raoul to breath.

He looked down at the music box on his lap. During the too brief days of their engagement, Christine had told him about it, with it Persian robed monkey and haunting melody.

It was only by chance that he had returned to Paris on the same day that the contents of the old Opera Populaire were being auctioned.

His chauffeur and the nurse helped him from the automobile and he stood before Christine's grave.

There was a photograph mounted on the monument and, below it, the words _Beloved wife and mother._

Seeing her face, matured and beautiful, he knew her life had been one of joy and contentment.

As he placed the music box on the base of the monument, it began to play.

It was then that he saw a single red rose, perhaps the most perfect rose that had ever flowered. It lay on the monument, a black ribbon tied around its stem. Entwined in the ribbon was the diamond engagement ring he had given Christine so many years ago.

He knew they had both forgiven him.

THE END

* * *

_I just want to say a very, very sincere thank you to all the lovely people who have read and reviewed my story. Two things prompted me to write this particular tale of Erik, Christine, and Raoul. When I first read Leroux's novel about sixteen years ago, I immediately thought of the idea of some connection between Erik and his rival. Also, when I saw the fantastic 2004 film, I was intrigued by the fact that Christine's gravestone referred to her as a Countess._

_I enjoyed writing this, though it meant some late nights. I am actually sad to end it. Thank you again for all the great reviews!_


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